By the Second
by paxge394
Summary: The story of the Hummels navigating through life without Elizabeth.
1. Chapter 1 - Roses and Inquiries

Kurt didn't realize what was happening until it was too late.

Mom being sick just meant she needed some extra sleep, but that was okay. She would cradle his head under the comforter, and her warmth and the smell of roses would fill his senses. They would gaze at the TV playing Sound of Music and they would sing along softly to every song. She would fall asleep, her fingers still lightly carding through her son's hair, her humming slowly fading into the deep breaths of sleep. Sometimes Kurt would lay there and let her heartbeat slowly lull him into a nap, and sometimes he would gently wiggle out from underneath her embrace to watch her peaceful face.

...

"What's Mommy sick with?" Kurt asked his dad one day, his head tilting to one side as he watched his dad do the fifth oil change of the day. "Does she have a cold? Because I could ask Dr. Simmons for cough syrup for her." He wrinkled his freckly nose at the memory of its taste, but he also recalled that it helped him get better when he was sick. He assumed it could do the same for her.

Burt looked up with a sad smile and backed up from the car he was working on. "No, kid, that won't help her." He crouched down and pressed his thumb to Kurt's cheek with an affectionate gaze. He watched as Kurt squirmed underneath his stained finger and ran off to the sink to remediate the new smudge. Burt followed him quietly and leaned against the door frame with a shaky exhale. "Your mom's body isn't being so nice to her."

"That doesn't make sense," Kurt claimed, wiping his face with a cloth and raising a skeptical eyebrow. The seven-year old looked up and saw his dad's slumped posture and fell quiet. His mind still swam with questions, but he simply made his way to the worn couch against the wall of his dad's office and began coloring a piece of construction paper.

...

A couple of hours later, Burt was still busy at the shop, so Kurt wandered to the public library next door. He found his way to the health section, but from there became confused with the medical terminology. With a shy grin, he shuffled up to the librarian and peered over the edge of the desk. "Hi," he greeted the wrinkly face on the other side. "What does it mean when your body isn't being nice to you?"

The librarian set down her pen to get a better look at the boy, her brows slightly furrowed. "I suppose it just means you're sick," she replied noncommittally - this wasn't her field.

"Well, duh, I know that," said Kurt with a subtle eye roll. Catching himself and his manners, he added, "sorry, I'm just confused. My dad says Mommy's body isn't being nice to her and I don't get it."

Realization dawned on the old woman's face and she swallowed thickly. "Oh, sweetheart, you need to talk to your dad about that. It could mean a lot of things. I'm just a librarian, not a doctor."

...

"The librarian says you need to tell me what's happening with Momma," announced Kurt as he slipped back into his dad's shop. Burt jumped and hit his head on the bottom of a car.

"Jesus, Kurt, I thought you were still in my office." Burt slipped out from underneath the car and wiped his hands on his coveralls with a shaky sigh. Kurt looked at him expectantly. "Bud, your mom... she has cancer. She's not getting better."


	2. Chapter 2 - Car Rides and Recipes

Kurt knew his mother was weak, but nothing could've prepared him for what Burt had just said. "You mean she's d-dying."

Burt's posture stiffened and he pressed his index fingers in the corners of his eyes to stop the tears. His voice came out hoarse and strangled, "yeah, kid, she... she is." This was it. Burt was finally admitting it to himself and too his son. It was real.

They stood still for a moment, processing the information, before Kurt sprung to action. He ran to his father and began kicking and clawing at his legs. "Save her! You need to save her!" he screeched, gasping for air in between sobs. "You have to." He melted into a pile on the floor, losing the energy and anger and becoming overwhelmed with defeat instead.

Burt sunk down onto the concrete floor, his big hands gliding across Kurt's back soothingly. He buried his eyes into the palm of his other hand and wept for the first time in years. "I wish I could," he whispered, "more than anything."

Burt closed up the shop early, scribbling a note of apology on a notepad and taping it to the front door. They drove home in his truck in complete silence. Burt felt like the stillness in the air was drowning him, but he resolutely clutched the steering wheel, determined to stay strong for Kurt. He focused on steadying his breathing, watching his son draw something in crayon out of the corner of his eye. The kid looked terrible: his head was bowed, his shoulders were shaking, and his bangs fell over his watery eyes. Burt swept the hair off of his clammy forehead, smiling despite himself as Kurt's hands jumped to his head to fix the damage.

When they got home, Kurt quietly slipped out of the car, delicately grasping the piece of construction paper he had been slaving over. He waited for his dad to unlock the door and stepped inside to head straight for the master bedroom.

Elizabeth was asleep, and Kurt couldn't help but wonder how he hadn't noticed it before: how her gaunt skin draped over her hollow cheeks and settled into caves around her eyes. When he closed the door behind him, her once-bright blue eyes blinked blearily before they focused lovingly on Kurt. "Hi, Love."

Kurt didn't meet her eyes, clambering up onto the bed to sit beside her. He handed her the construction paper. It was neatly designed with a red heart surrounding their stick figure family. Elizabeth noticed with a pang that the uneven letters spelling out "Get better soon" were scribbled out with purple crayon and replaced with "I love you". She gently set the drawing on her nightstand, pulled her son into her chest, and kissed his head. "You know," she said sadly.

"The librarian told me that dad needed to tell me," he informed her with a slow nod. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at her son's determination to solve her mystery. He got his stubbornness from her. That was certain. Kurt began to hiccup as tears returned to his eyes, and she squeezed him comfortingly. The sounds of pots and pans crashing to the floor startled them from their moment and Elizabeth chuckled. "You know what that means," she said with a clearer voice. "Let's go save your dad from his own cooking."

Kurt jumped down from the bed and held her hand as she stepped down herself, a little frown troubling his face as he bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a sob. "You still have so many recipes to teach me," he whispered, and it was so quiet that it was only heard by his ears.


	3. Chapter 3 - Smiles and Silence

The next few weeks happened quickly. Kurt found himself catching sleep in his dad's truck or the side of his mom's hospital bed, but in his room he couldn't drift off. His task of every day was to make the best drawings he could with his limited time and 12-pack of Crayolas. When they drove to the hospital, Kurt would set his new addition on the windowsill and fall into Elizabeth's arms.

Today, Kurt shuffled nervously into the room, his small, soft hand wrapped in his father's. "She's asleep," he muttered, trying and failing to mask his disappointment. "She's always awake when she knows we're coming. Did you forget to call the nurses or-"

Burt silenced his son by pressing his finger to his lips. "Mom's tired, that's all, bud. We should..." he cleared his throat, fighting back the feeling of it closing with emotion. "Let's come back tomorrow."

Kurt solemnly placed his drawing of a delicate flower on the windowsill and pressed his cheek to the bony hand hanging from the side of the bed. He felt the fingers lightly stir and run across his face.

"Smile, baby," he heard a weak voice. Kurt looked up into watery blue eyes and mustered up all the energy he could into a grin. He felt Elizabeth's thumb press into his dimple and heard a soft melody, "When you're smiling, when you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you..." He broke out into a breathy sob and his mother hugged him firmly, like it was the last chance she'd get.

It was.

...

Kurt had been waiting in the corner of the room while his father had a chair pulled up next to the heart monitor. He'd been oblivious before, but as the beeps slowly gained distance between each other, it became clearer and clearer. It was the worst feeling of his life: as if his heart was being ripped from him slowly, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't pull it back or mend it.

His father stood resolutely still, his face crumpled into the most sorrowful expression Kurt had ever seen. He took only small comfort in his mother's peaceful expression. Slowly, Kurt stood from the cheap plastic chair and reached for his dad's hand, burying his face in the sleeve of his flannel and just trying to breathe.

...

On their way home, Kurt tentatively reached for the dial of the truck's volume, letting the sound of Christmas music fill the heavy air. Burt glanced at Kurt with a small nod of his head, turning the volume back to mute. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready to remember Elizabeth's clear voice ringing from the kitchen, singing "White Christmas" as Kurt giggled and added too many chocolate chips to their cookie batter. Kurt thought that memory was what he himself craved, but as he watched his father blink tears from his eyes, he decided he wasn't so sure.

"It's only November," Burt muttered under his breath, but his son saw right through it.

Shortly after they arrived home, Burt switched on a football game and fell asleep slumped in his armchair. Kurt tucked himself into bed with an aching pain in his chest, trying to imagine the smell of roses caressing his senses. He fought for air as the panic began to set in that he would forget things about his mother, things just like that. He couldn't even pry his eyes closed as he experienced the first panic attack of his life and felt so, so alone without anyone to sing him to sleep.


End file.
